| Pull up with that stupid beat, orange Camaro trick or treat
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| Stupid geek (tweakin) it’s super street
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| It’s a Super Sport nigga, trick or treat
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| I flee the broads, stars and cars look like they just broke in the mall
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| Home girl seen my auto mall and said let’s go and have a ball
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| Hold applause change your drawers, Big Gucci not Santa Clause
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| Young’uns might just break the law, whole Squad be like «Damn the law»
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| If what you seen ain’t what you saw, Scary Movie, Saw 3
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| East Atlanta, whassup Santa, Alabama ride with me
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| Glock nine on me, hot rod lonely
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| Gucci ridin double wides, tractor-trailers, ponies
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| What’chu mean? |
| Bag of beans, same boy from the magazines
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| Two AK’s three magazines, make a stupid horror scene
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| Orange Ferrari, purple trees, whippin like on gold D’s
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| Pimpin like I’m Goldie, listenin to the oldies
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| It’s Gucci!
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| Funky feet (funky feet) funky feet
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| Pull up with that stupid beat, orange Camaro trick or treat
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| Stupid geek… it’s super street
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| It’s a Super Sport nigga, trick or treat
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| Look at me, nigga look at me
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| Pull up in my new Ferrari, pull up and say trick or treat
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| And after a week, I cop another skreet
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| A pretty car, nigga, trick or treat
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| Okay our whip, our feet, ridin down our street
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| But got the bromaer’y T, turn your wife into a freak
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| Snatch the mighty iron whip, I gotta eat nigga
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| You lookin sweet nigga trick or treat nigga
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| Trunk on thunder, candy paint mumble
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| Why your tint so dark? |
| Bitch I’m ridin under
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| This Brick Squad, nigga what it do
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| Ye ain’t Brick Squad pussy nigga who is you?
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| Money over e’rythang, even you
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| If the General call then you better shoot
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| BLAK BLAK BLAK BLAK BLAK, you know the dump
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| Wooh Da Kid and Guc' truth gon' pop the trunk
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| Louis Vuitton, come take a flick
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| You ain’t takin shit, but you can take a click
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| It’s a nightmare when I pop up
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| Got the top cut wit’cho lady chick
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| We super geeked, I’m hella high
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| Her mouth wet but mine stupid dry
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| I’m movin slow like a zombie
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| while she woppin me, she boppin me
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| Got black ice, call me Black Ice, really heavy around my neck
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| I just blackout, call me Blackout, look and shot at a nigga that flex
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| Now I’m bustin at him, I’m gunnin at him
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| He runnin real quick with those funky feet
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| He dead man, I’m toe taggin
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| I’m a black bag him in white sheets
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| I’m a flatline him, it’s over with
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| And he ain’t comin back, no heartbeat (ADIOS!)
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| Brick Squad some rude boys
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| Don’t play around, don’t fuck with them
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| I pull up on your block
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| Let some shots off, you stuck with them
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| I’m a G-A, N-G, S-T, A
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| All these girls call me wantin to fuck
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| And Monique the old ladies wanna fuck me
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| I poke you to death like Chucky
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| Came up in one year they say I’m lucky, FLOCKA!
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| Semi little hussy that’s a get money getter
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| All my girls got Waka Flocka on they
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| Don’t need a school girl, need a down-ass slut
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| Ten pack of bills I wanna roll and bite
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| Fuck police, fuck police, no license on me
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| In the club V.I.P. |
| no ID cuz got funky feet
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| Ten left, twenty right, dead guys on me
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| I’m on E, it’s Olde E, I think I’m 'bout to O.D.
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| Some fly girls wanna swat me
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| And it’s gettin out of hand like I lost my arm
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| Off the chain like I lost my job
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| Hold my lotto ticket, girls love my charm
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| Ballin like pimps, shit doesn’t switch
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| ill, they love my sign
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| And I think I’m James Brown I got funky feet
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| Say Flock can’t rap, I don’t motherfuckin care
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| FLOCKA! |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Trick or Treat , by - Gucci Mane. Song from the album The Return of Mr. Zone 6, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп